I remember orange, yellow, and red,
being lit up,
neurons firing fireworks,
primary and primitive.
Now anxious thoughts go tippy-tap
down blood slick pathways.
Iím full of the grainy silt of undreamt dreams
collected in the corner of a blackened eye.
I practice white smiles
to beam light into the grey.
Strangers say take Echinacea,
strip my skin from the bone.
A crescendo of chronic pain
bruises my world plum purple.
I ride indigo waves through
a forest green high, and wonder
if my spirit still spits flame.